


UNFINISHED FRED HOLDING A CUP

by Ladywolvesbayne



Series: MEL'S SHORT HALO FICTION [9]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Art Class AU, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Romance, alternative universe, might contain spicy scenes further down, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladywolvesbayne/pseuds/Ladywolvesbayne
Summary: [MODERN DAY ART SCHOOL AU]LAPD officer Veta Lopis takes art classes at the local community college as a hobby.Fred Ellsworth is a Navy veteran that, sometimes, volunteers as a model for his sister-in-law's art class.Today, they are doing nude body studies. She didn't expect the model to be so conventionally handsome; he didn't expect to like the abstract painting of that young Latina so much. Veta isn't really on the mood for men, but there's something about him. Fred's life is good, a bit lonely but good. And then, life improves. Wait, what? Are they catching... feelings?....5 chapter story inspired by the A-M-A-ZING art of Volantis!!Seriously guys, go check her Tumblr (@magellanicclouds), it's full of incredible art, a woman of fine Fred tastes just like Veta herself xD
Relationships: Cortana/John-117 | Master Chief, Frederic-104/Veta Lopis, Linda-058/Ellen Anders
Series: MEL'S SHORT HALO FICTION [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783900
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	UNFINISHED FRED HOLDING A CUP

**Author's Note:**

> This sweet, sweet and totally innocent *evil grin* experiment is the result of Volantis showing me a piece of Fred art she was working on that got me saying, ‘you know, If I didn’t know any better, I would say he’s modeling for an art class’. In about an hour we had a whole story that just wrote itself around that idea. Funny how inspiration works sometimes, eh? There isn’t much of a big, bombastic storyline, just random events in further exploration of other ways to get Fred and Veta together meanwhile we wait for canon to make it happen :P Thank you, Volantis, for adding to the pile xD  
> I hope you guys like this, it was certainly a lot of fun to imagine it. Please, take some commentary with a grain of salt, IMO this reads like a late 90s romantic comedy.

**UNIVERSE, STORY AND WORKS INSPIRED BY[THIS AMAZING PIECE](https://magellanicclouds.tumblr.com/post/639747253733572608/so-this-began-life-as-an-especially-rough-sketch) AND [THIS OTHER (MAGNIFICENT) PIECE](https://magellanicclouds.tumblr.com/post/639747663914549248/more-artclassfred-work-for-the-art-class-au-being). ALL CREDIT GOES TO [VOLANTIS](https://magellanicclouds.tumblr.com/), I ADMIT NO TAKE BACKS NOW!!**

**UNFINISHED FRED HOLDING A CUP**

_(a modern-day Halo Art Class AU)_

**PART I**

Veta clocked out at six, which left an hour to get back to her apartment in the suburbs, about half an hour to get a shower and eat something, and then another twenty to thirty minutes to get to her class. Taking art classes at the community college (two hours a class twice a week) had been a blessing, it was literally saving her from running herself into the ground with work.

Stress was every good cop’s killer, and in the wonderful City of Angels there was a lot to stress over. Her department had implemented a new program that required their patrol officers to have a hobby and through an agreement with the city, several institutions were offering free memberships, classes, workshops and other benefits.

She was unmarried and had no kids, not even a pet. Her time was her own.

She just had to take her pick. Something that would help her unwind and _feel free_ for a couple of hours.

Of the selection, Veta considered she had tried everything she could be interested in. From boxing to swimming, karate, tennis and just going to the gym, to do pottery, arts and crafts, home improvement workshops, finance workshops, improve her computer skills, book clubs and even cooking classes. But it wasn’t until her three-year partner officer Palmer told her about a wacky art class she’d been into for a few weeks that Veta didn’t find her true passion.

The class was free, the materials required weren’t expensive and the hours were convenient: Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight to ten. It suited her perfectly. She could go swimming on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

So, she signed into it. What was there to lose?

**-o-**

The teacher was kind of crazy. A woman in her late twenties, like Veta herself, her name was Elizabeth-something but everyone called her ‘Cortana’ for some reason.

She obviously knew a lot about art. She also talked _a lot_ about her wonderful husband named John and their beautiful daughter, Sarah. Cortana was fun, though, always smiling and positive, always dressed in black yoga pants and plain white tank-tops complemented with big gauze shawls in various patterns of blue. She probably had a hundred of those, Veta never saw her wearing the same shawl once since she started attending the class. She seemed kind of hippie. Her husband was the total opposite of her: a very serious, tall and broad-shouldered man in his mid-to-late thirties, that looked like he would punch anything that stared at him the wrong way… handsome yet rugged, carried himself like military. An image that contrasted shockingly with the sweet ten-month-old girl permanently perched on his arm that, just like her mommy, was all smiles and giggles.

Fair is fair: Veta wasn’t completely sold on the class. She didn’t really know how to draw or paint. In her head, art had always been this thing that had to look and feel as pretty and accurate as a picture, and it bummed her to realize that she didn’t have such skills. She could barely draw a circle and be proud of it. It didn’t take long for her to realize how wrong she’d been all along: in Cortana’s class, the first rule was _‘everyone can create art’_. After six weeks and lots of fun, Veta understood that it was true: it didn’t have to look pretty, it had to make her _feel something_. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t draw a picture-perfect portrait, she would draw what she felt when she looked at the model.

By her seventh week she was enjoying herself volumes. She felt a lot better, too.

The students were quite proper of any night class; about twenty people in a full-attendance day and more or less the same amount of men and women, also from a wide range of ages and ethnicities. The drill usually involved around twenty minutes of Cortana describing the subject of the day’s practice, most famous painters and interesting facts about the art-style that they would be approaching, showing them some pictures. But for the most part, she encouraged everyone to have fun and try to express themselves, Cortana had a way of talking and cheering that made even watching the paint dry an adventure.

Veta’s own style was a mystery. Her interpretations were colorful and vivid, her influences could be vaguely traced along the lines of the greatest works of cubism and expressionism. The vanguards suited her talents. She could transfer her vision to the canvas through oils, pastels, charcoal and watercolors, the medium was irrelevant. Ink was quite messy and reminded her of paperwork, so she tried to avoid it like the plague. Cortana herself had grown quite fond of her work and was always praising it (okay, she praised everyone’s work, but still), sometimes she stayed a few minutes after the class was over to talk to Veta about her paintings.

She didn’t feel like she was any sort of star student and told Cortana exactly that: she really liked to come and forget herself, just paint. It made her feel good.

For two hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Veta Lopis was comfortable and carefree.

**-o-**

The next subject on their schedule was _‘study of the nude body’_.

She heard some comments about the nude studies during the coffee break, the week before. Veta wasn’t particularly hyped about it, not unlike a few other students, veterans that were taking Cortana’s class for the third or fourth year in a row. It wasn’t because she felt awkward with staring at a nude person for two hours and trying to draw them (as a cop and first responder in crime scenes, she had seen a lot of upsetting stuff), but because she had to apply her vision to another human being and she didn’t want to be inconsiderate. If that made any sense.

Well, being professional always worked. She could be professional about this.

After a few minutes of waiting, Cortana entered the classroom greeting everyone with her usual histrionics. A very tall man in a purple robe trailed behind her. He seemed relaxed, as if he were used to be there.

So, he would be the model?

It surprised Veta that Cortana would bring someone so conventionally attractive.

This man was quite handsome, he looked fairly young (perhaps mid-thirties) with short jet-black hair and thick black eyebrows, fair of skin and with clear eyes. She was too far to identify the color of that gaze (could’ve been blue or green) but it was attentive, piercing. Strong build, for what it could be appreciated about the shapes the robe latched to. The silver gleam of a ball-chain could be seen between the flaps of the robe, the type of chain that usually carried dog tags. Veta quirked an eyebrow. Oh, Cortana.

Did she ask one of her husband’s Navy buddies to pose for the class?

That sounded hilarious.

“Well, for the new faces of this year, this is Fred, my brother in law. He will be modeling for us today!”

Veta’s smile disappeared. What?

“Hi.” he smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

The class greeted him with enthusiasm. Hard to miss that he was a recurrent character.

“Alright, Fred.” Cortana patted his shoulder. “You can disrobe, let’s make some art!”

Oh, well. Once the initial shock passed, Veta relaxed. She grabbed her palette and brush, getting mentally ready to have fun and do her thing. Poured a few colors on the palette, gathered and posed the rag she used to clean her hands and brushes.

“How do you want me?” Fred asked, nonchalantly.

“Naked!” said someone from the back.

Everyone laughed, Fred included. Cortana louder than anyone.

“I’m trying!” he replied, in good humor. “I mean, how do you guys want me to pose?”

He had such a deep voice, and an honest laughter.

Veta found herself smiling, despite everything.

Before the situation turned into a riot, Cortana stepped in and she spoke quietly with Fred, probably giving him some directions. She put a styrofoam cup on one of his hands, made a few gestures. He nodded again, without losing that charming half-smirk, and then proceeded to untie the robe. Veta cleared her throat, preparing herself for… what, exactly?

This was art class, they were making art. He would be a model.

Models were supposed to be attractive, right?

Yeah, it was fine. It was, indeed, until the robe started to slide down.

Veta happened to be sitting on the best spot of the classroom to appreciate how the light of the fluorescent tubes casted enticing shadows all over his torso. He was quite muscular, but the most notorious thing was that he had a series of red and twisted scars on the right shoulder and the same side of his chest that went down the ribcage to his hip, reaching maybe a third of his well-defined abs. The result of what looked like an old combat wound. Veta had seen markings like that before: it was probably shrapnel taken from a short distance. It only added to the dog tags hanging from his neck and the posture in general (straight back, poised shoulders), it was hard to ignore that he was military just like Cortana’s husband.

The thing is, Fred’s face seemed a lot more amicable than John’s.

He tied the sleeves of the robe low around his hips (leaving very little to the imagination) and sat on the stool, posing like Cortana recommended. He studied his surroundings, in perfect calm, while holding the disposable cup between his hands that rested on his lap. Oh, he had very nice hands, too. Strong, long fingers, nicely-shaped arms.

Veta stared at the scars for a few minutes, maybe too long. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

She mixed some colors on her palette to approach a skin tone, feeling insecure about where to begin. The scars were telling her a lot, she feared it might be the only thing she could focus on and make a complete fool of herself.

So, she looked up to him again, looking for something else.

_And their eyes met._

**-o-**

Frederick Ellsworth knew exactly how he ended up posing on that uncomfortable bar stool, holding a disposable cup and covering his groin with a purple bathrobe.

It was because he couldn’t say no to his sister in law.

Nobody could say no to Cortana. She was just too nice, energetic and snarky.

This wasn’t his first gig as an art model for her, either. He’d been doing it for… three years, now? Not that he was getting paid. Every year, when the final class arrived, he made her promise that she wouldn’t ask him again. It never worked. He didn’t mind, it was fun. Fred didn’t really care much about the stares, he was used to it by now; he got plenty of them when he was at the beach. He had been wounded doing his job, lost a certain degree of mobility on his right shoulder and elbow and therefore, had been promoted to Lieutenant and discharged with honors a few months later. Physical therapy helped and he was fit, very fit.

He had a nice, stable job in the same private security firm John, Kelly and Linda worked at.

Life was good. A bit lonely, but good.

Also, he just loved to see what the students would come up with. The course wasn’t exactly a career in art, Cortana had explained, but more like a hobby for retired people, so nobody was a professional. It was all very lax and entertaining. Most students tried to draw him like a perfect Greek god, with mixed results; some omitted the scars, others focused too much on them. The charcoal portraits were his favorites. So far, he had liked many of the art pieces produced during his visits but never really loved any of them. But then again, art was subjective. The key was in the emotional connection.

So, yeah, he was comfortable there, half-naked and with a bunch of strangers ogling him.

Fred did a sweep of the classroom, identifying all the standing bodies. Old habits die hard. Meanwhile Cortana moved proudly between the easels and exchanged comments with the artists. Everyone seemed so busy, so focused, brushes moving with dexterity and passion. 

Everyone, but one. There was a woman on the second row, around his ten o’clock.

So small that he wouldn’t have seen her if she wasn’t leaning over the side of her canvas to peek. Black hair, hazel eyes, Latina. He caught her looking straight at him. He stared back. She was wearing some ripped jeans, simple tennis shoes, a white t-shirt and a red flannel shirt on top, her hair wasn't too long, cascading down her shoulder. Beautiful. Mid-twenties, probably. Could be older, it was hard to tell.

He smiled a little. Her eyebrows shot up.

She scurried quickly behind the canvas and he didn’t see her again for a while (because, yes, although he was aware of the movement in the room, Fred kept an eye on her). She occasionally peeked through the edge of the canvas, squinting. It was quite amusing to watch, she looked so serious. Near the end of the class, Cortana ended her round with her, precisely, and upon looking at her student’s work she put her hands together as if she were praying. She looked very excited. Two other students approached, they looked very impressed.

Fred cocked his head, curious.

Cortana was always excited about her students’ work, she was optimistic that way.

But the way she gesticulated at the canvas and then at him, sitting there on the stool, it was an indicator of a deeper interest. He just had the feeling.

Well, now he wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

**-o-**

The class ended a few minutes past ten, as usual.

Veta retouched some colors on the canvas, to spend the last remaining mixes she had made. Oils were amongst the most expensive art supplies and she didn’t like to waste paint. The pieces were barely taking shape, they would work on them for three, maybe four classes until everyone was comfortable with the results. Which meant, Fred would be modeling for the remainder of the assignment.

She wasn’t sure why, but the idea was exciting.

(it was an excuse to continue looking at him, studying him, transferring him to the canvas)

Veta stared at her project, while she cleaned the brushes inside a can with a bit of solvent.

She had given up early on trying to draw realistic portraits, so she resorted to that mixture of lines and shapes that made up a person, but not entirely. Using some basic principles of drawing that Cortana had taught her in their first classes, she had been able to put together a harmonious form that irradiated the model’s strength, charisma and presence. It was bold, with bright tones, the posture was a bit exaggerated but accurate. Powerful, even. All she had to do was let go and look carefully, sense the raw energy that this man projected and put it on the art.

_Yep, it looked like she had done ‘the art’._

Veta felt proud, relaxed, accomplished.

“Wow, I had no idea I looked this good. You’ve got talent.”

Startled, Veta clutched the can and whirled around.

Now, she was standing face to face with some well-defined upper abdominal muscles. She craned her neck all the way up and past his pectorals and collarbone, past the scars, to find his face. She took a step back, nearly toppling over the easel. Fred was fast, he stretched one of those long, nicely shaped arms to catch it and straighten it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologized, cringing.

“No, it’s fine. I was just finishing here.”

“Fred Ellsworth.”

He extended that huge hand towards her, kindly.

She cleaned her dirty fingers on the rag and then answered the greeting, briefly but firm. Her hand got almost completely swallowed in his grip.

“Veta Lopis.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Uh, same. So, you’re Cortana’s brother in law. How did you get dragged into this?”

He was wearing pants now. Sweatpants. No shirt, but sweatpants. For some reason, it wasn’t better than the robe. God, he was _really_ handsome.

What had Veta completely enraptured, however, was not his towering height or the width of those shoulders (okay, yes, _but also_ ), it was all about his eyes. Deep and crystalline, a shade of blue-green like she’d never seen before. There were a few freckles across his nose, too, some more tiny, little scars on his cheek and upper lip. The freckles were a thing he had in common with his brother, John, although John’s were a lot more pronounced. She didn’t even register that Fred was about to put a black t-shirt on, he seemed quite focused on the canvas behind her.

He drew a smirk that made her feel a little weird. But good weird.

“How long have you been in her class?” he asked.

“Not long, about three months.”

“Oh, well. She can be very persuasive, you don’t know her well yet.”

Veta let out a nervous huff of laughter, trying to be friendly. She returned to her supplies, focused on cleaning everything up before leaving. Also, to give him some sort of privacy while he actually put the t-shirt on. The tinkling noise of the dog tags indicated her that he was done, and her things were mostly neatly packed as well. She could just pick up her backpack and go home. Veta was half-expecting him to be gone by now, but no; when she turned around again, he was still there, now with those impressive arms crossed, staring at the unfinished painting.

“You really like it that much?” she commented, bewildered.

“There’s something about it.” Fred shrugged, tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know what it is, but it draws the eye. It’s magnetic.”

“You’re just being nice.”

He squinted a little, confused.

“No, I’m looking forward to see the finished piece. I’m sure it will look great.”

That reassurance warmed up something inside her chest, but Veta tried not to think too much about it. She shouldered her backpack. Cortana was already coming their way, with that huge smile of hers, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders. She only carried a little black bag on her hand, a tiny purse.

“I see you got acquainted.” she said, looking at Veta first, then at Fred. “Are we ready?”

“Yeah, we were just chatting.” Fred uncrossed his arms. “You got a talented one here.”

“So I keep saying.” Cortana put her hands on her hips.

Veta laughed. “Stop it, guys. I’m just here for the fun.”

Cortana’s smile grew wider.

“That’s the spirit. I believe we’re all headed to the parking lot? Let’s walk together.”

**-o-**

For some reason, after helping Cortana hop into the passenger seat of his SUV, Fred insisted in accompanying Veta to her car, at the other (darker) side of the lot. She drove a dark-blue third generation Camaro that once belonged to her father, a jewel she kept in prime condition to honor the old man’s memory.

“Thank you, it was very nice to meet you.” she started the farewell, fidgeting with her keys.

But Fred wasn’t leaving just yet. He took a very appreciative look at the car behind her and, more specifically, at the ID sticker with her badge number and other details that was stuck to the windshield.

“You’re a cop.” he remarked.

“Street officer, downtown patrol.”

“Oh.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Is that a problem?”

Veta was a little too used to people dismissing her as a competent cop, usually more due to her height and light build than to the fact that she was a woman. But Fred didn’t give her one of those dismissive looks, instead:

“No. I’m a veteran myself. Navy, Special Operations.”

“I noticed. Thank you for your service.”

“Thank you for yours, officer Lopis.” his smiled a little. “You make our city safer.”

She returned the smile, although a bit cocky. “You bet.”

“Do you come to every class?”

“Yeah, I love this, it helps me relax. I wouldn’t miss it.”

This news seemed to excite him. Which excited Veta too, she wasn’t going to lie.

Maybe this was the beginning of something nice, who could say?

“I guess we’ll see each other around, then. Take care.”

“You too, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She knew that she should’ve got into her car and driven away, but instead, Veta leaned back against the door of her Camaro and watched him go, taking in his long strides and predatory gait, he moved smooth like a panther. Attentive to his surroundings. She felt a strange pressure in her stomach, could’ve been hunger (it was way past ten) or nervousness.

But he had been nice. When was the last time a man had been this nice to her?

**-o-**

“I still don’t get how you got involved in this.” John said.

Fred rolled his eyes, sitting on the staircase of the porch with his back against the handrail. There it was, that little smirk. His older brother wasn’t exactly the smiling kind of guy and when he was mocking you, it was hard to miss. Thank God the girls weren’t around, or the roasting would be complete. He looked up to the long, reinforced rocking chair in which John was sitting, with little Sarah perched on his thigh like a little parakeet, babbling.

“It’s art, John. You wouldn’t get it.” Fred quipped, in a feigned frivolous tone.

From the window behind them, Cortana added: “He doesn’t get it.”

“I know art. You make pretty paintings and I like them.”

Cortana suddenly burst out of the window and hugged John’s neck, covering his cheek with kisses, half her body balancing off the windowsill. Sarah giggled and clapped, happily.

“And you’re my favorite subject.”

“I noticed. How many pieces of me fixing the roof do you need to paint?”

“Just five or six more, it has to be perfect.”

Cortana laughed when John pulled her effortlessly from the windowsill to sit on his other thigh, the expression on his face hadn’t changed much except for a couple of wrinkles around his eyes and a slight curve on the corner of his mouth.

He was the happiest when his girls were close.

Fred smiled to himself and returned to his beer.

They looked good together. He wasn’t very well acquainted with the story of how John and Cortana had met and even less, of how two diametrically opposite people had gotten married and produced such a beautiful kid. Maybe it was because, like everyone else, John couldn’t say no to her. The thought almost made Fred snort under his breath. Cortana was just so cheerful and full of energy and life, she certainly had enough laughter in her to supply herself and John. For a second too long, he found himself thinking of Veta Lopis, of her hazel eyes and the way she had steeled herself when he noticed she was a police officer. She looked rather small, alright, but he didn’t doubt she was capable, there was a ferocious gleam in her eyes that just said so. He had feelings about people, sometimes.

She gave him strong fighter vibes. He wanted to know more.

Well, next Tuesday they both would be there again. Maybe they would chat again.

_Maybe._

Fred drank the rest of his beer calmly, staring at the dark street and listening deep into the quiet night. Sarah’s indiscernible babble was a fantastic background noise. He hadn’t really considered having children of his own and being thirty-six, people kept asking; Fred said he had two adorable nephews to cope. Kelly’s nine-year-old adoptive son was a good kid, but Sarah was just unbelievably cute. And he was a good uncle.

Life was good. A bit lonely, but good.

_But life could improve and be great, why not?_

Cortana tapped on John’s shoulder and hopped off his thigh, to pick up her daughter.

“Okay, you two. Let’s get inside, dinner is ready.”

**_DEFINITELY_ ** **TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry I haven’t replied to any comments yet! I’ve been caught in a writing spree and I tend to isolate when I do that, I’ll get back to you ASAP! But do know that all the encouragement and good wishes and nonsensical screaming is ALWAYS greatly appreciated :)  
> With this story, there’s probably going to be a lot of tell and very little show, so I’ll try to make it amenable to read. Like with most of the new projects at hand, there’s no schedule because I’m currently busy with other professional projects but, there will be more coming whenever there’s ideas. Also, just for the record, if you have read Shadows of Reach by Troy Denning, well, we’re dealing with concussion!Fred here, I think Eric Nylund’s Fred would never sign up to be a nude model for an art class, unless it was an essential mission requirement. Heck, I don’t think Fred in ANY universe would sign up for this unless it was a mission requirement, but here we are. Ignoring canon to our heart’s content. Anyway. If you like something, say something!  
> Also: bookmark/fave and subscribe/follow to be alerted on the updates, if you want!


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